


don't threaten me with a good time

by RUHX



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Discussion of kinks and safewords, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Temperature Play, Wax Play, blowjob, chapter 3 is the kinky chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUHX/pseuds/RUHX
Summary: Cooke’s already trying to strip off Rossi’s clothes—he’s been thinking about this for most of the journey over, sitting awkwardly on the train to hide the fact he’s half hard and very pointedly, not looking at Rossi who had been sitting opposite him flashing wolfish glances in his direction.Or, the fic where Cooke and Rossi share leave together and spend most of it fucking.
Relationships: Private Cooke/Private Rossi (1917)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I wrote for the fandom and it's 9k words of pure pwp with bits of soft because I am weak for these two.  
> There's 4 chapters total, 3 are written and the other 2 currently being edited.   
> In this chapter: blowjob, Rossi's dirty talk, Cooke's a brat, hair-pulling, fingering, edging, slow sex

It’s night by the time they get to Rossi’s cottage in the Scottish countryside. Cooke’s so focused on Rossi he doesn’t even stop to appreciate the natural beauty of the area nor the rustic aesthetic of the Tudor cottage Rossi calls home. 

Once they’ve toed their shoes off and dump their duffle bags, Rossi shows Cooke upstairs and Cooke’s on Rossi the moment they dump their duffel bags and Rossi shuts the door to his bedroom, their hips pressed together as a messy kiss is initiated. Cooke’s already trying to strip off Rossi’s clothes—he’s been thinking about this for most of the journey over, sitting awkwardly on the train to hide the fact he’s half hard and very pointedly, not looking at Rossi who had been sitting opposite him flashing wolfish glances in his direction.

Rossi’s hand makes its way into Cooke’s hair and tugs with just the right amount of pressure that Cooke likes. It’s a very specific grip that’s too much yet and not enough. A sharp pull of pleasure-pain with the promise for more that Rossi sometimes uses as an off switch to stop Cooke overthinking or to shut him up when they have relative privacy.

“Steady on darling,” Rossi breathes with a slight laugh when they break away. Cooke smiles against Rossi’s mouth as he strokes the back of Cooke’s head whilst they breathe, foreheads pressed together. Rossi’s voice drops and becomes something softer. Something only Cooke gets to hear; “If you don’t slow down I won’t do this-” 

He waits to see what Rossi does and it takes everything in him to stay still. His breath hitches as the brunette unbuttons Cooke’s trousers and sinks to his knees—Oh. It’s not something Rossi’s ever done before or hinted interest at doing, his face remaining carefully neutral when Cooke had admitted it was a fantasy he'd assumed it was something Rossi wasn’t into. 

Rossi licks a stripe up the underside of Cooke’s cock with the broad flat of his tongue. He slowly brings the head into his mouth and teases the slit and Cooke whines out a noise he didn’t know he could make. He feels his cheeks heat up and Rossi stops to peer up at him. Slowly, slowly he repeats the action, holding eye contact, those dark brown eyes rooting him to the spot. Cooke tries to bite back the whimpers and moans Rossi tries to draw out of him. Heat pools rapidly in the pit of Cooke’s stomach and he knows he’s not going to last long.

“Rossi-” Whatever Cooke was going to say dies on his tongue with a moan when Rossi takes him all the way to the root then hums around his cock, the vibrations have Cooke throwing his head back and grabbing at Rossi’s hair. Rossi lets him hang on as he bobs his head up and down, his tongue doing clever tricks and lingering on the more sensitive spots. It feels better than Cooke could have imagined and half of it is because it’s Rossi. All Cooke can do is hang on and take what he’s given. Rossi’s palming himself through his trousers and knowing he’s getting off on this too—seeing physical proof of that adds fuel to the fire and Cooke can feel the orgasm rushing up on him. 

“Close,” Cooke bites out, he tries to pull Rossi off but Rossi takes him deeper, hollows his cheeks and that’s all Cooke needs to come. Rossi holds Cooke in place and swallows the come down. The feeling of it has him biting his lip to stop from crying out, he barely bites back the broken whimpers the action draws from him. Cooke’s full body weight is resting on the wall leaning on the wall because he feels like his legs may give out if he tries to stand without assistance.

Rossi stands up, draws level with Cooke and kisses him, slowly, deeply. Rossi lets Cooke taste himself in Rossi’s mouth. Cooke doesn’t care for the bitter salty taste of come but knowing it’s his in Rossi’s mouth hits differently and he feels his cock twitch hopefully as he curls his tongue against Rossi’s. Whilst they’re kissing, Rossi takes Cooke’s hand, guides it under the waistband of his trousers and lets him feel how wet his crotch is. As realization dawns on Cooke’s face and Rossi gives him an almost shy half-smile. 

“You came from that-” Cooke’s still breathless but Rossi nods. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Rossi admits softly. Cooke looks at him quizzically then pulls Rossi in for another kiss, runs a thumb over his jaw.

“Since when?” Cooke’s curious now but Rossi gives him a coy smile and walks to the bed, undressing properly. 

“Oi don’t leave me hanging!” Cooke calls after him. In a brief split second of borrowed boldness, Cooke slaps Rossi on the ass as he’s mid-stride. The slap sounds much harder than it is—Cooke really could have put more weight behind it but it has the desired reaction. Rossi freezes for a beat before he finishes stepping out of his trousers. The look Rossi gives Cooke has him squirm in place.

“If you’re gonna be a brat I’m gonna have to punish you,” Rossi says in a warning tone. There’s a smile tugging at his lips that gives him away but Cooke would be lying if that threat didn’t go straight to his cock. He’s still curious to know how long Rossi’s been thinking about going down on him but the idea of punishment is much more interesting.

“And what does punishment entail?” Cooke asks, sitting on Rossi’s lap. He mouths slowly and messily at Rossi’s jaw and throat whilst he waits for an answer and Rossi huffs out soft breaths at the attention, eyelids fluttering shut. Rossi tastes like dirt and sweat but Cooke’s content to let his tongue linger regardless. 

“Trade secret,” Rossi says after a while. He pulls Cooke up in for a kiss, hand tight in the hair at the back of Cooke’s head.

“Yeah? Maybe I want to be punished,” Cooke breathes. He’s tempted to push it.

“Of course you would,” Rossi sighs. Rossi flips them over so he’s laying on top of Cooke. “Here’s how this is gonna work,” Rossi says slowly once he’s settled. Cooke squirms under him but Rossi has his full attention. 

“We’re gonna go slow, just the way I’ve wanted to for so long,” Cooke groans but a part of him is delighted Rossi thinks about him like that. “I’m gonna finger you slowly, feel every inch of your greedy hole that I can reach, get you all nice and wet and begging for me to fill you with my cock,” Rossi stops for breath and gives Cooke a searching look before continuing. Their eyes lock for a too-brief second before Cooke breaks eye contact and he absent-mindedly trails a hand down Rossi’s back.

“If you’re a good boy, and by good boy I mean taking everything I give you without complaint you can have me however you want after,” Cooke’s stomach flutters at the prospect. Some nights, just to tease Rossi would get Cooke to confess what he wanted to do if their roles were switched and play them out against him. Those were the nights where Cooke came the hardest, biting into his scarf so he didn’t shout Rossi’s name. Rossi must have seen the lustful expression that passes over Cooke’s face as he thinks about that that because he adds:

“Remember darling, you only get it your way if you take it my way first. I don’t want you to touch yourself—you’re going to come on nothing but the feeling of my cock sliding in and out nice n’ slow inside you. Think you can handle that, doll?” Cooke can only nod in agreement.

Rossi leans down for a slow kiss and Cooke’s content to let him lead. He pulls back to suck on Cooke’s lip before breaking away to hold his gaze. 

“Got it?” Rossi asks, pulling away as Cooke tries to chase his lips but the hand Rossi has in his hair stops him. Cooke whines and nods. Rossi smiles sweetly, his soft brown eyes twinkling in the evening’s fading light and the flicker of the lit candles on the bedside table.

Rossi rolls his hips against Cooke who bites back a moan on instinct.

“And you’re not gonna hold back this time, love,” Rossi orders. He nuzzles and licks at a spot under Cooke’s ear as he rolls his hips again. 

“Let me hear you,” Rossi’s voice is light and breathy. It’s hard letting go at first until he hears Rossi mutter perfect against his neck. Rossi rolls his hips forward a few more times. “Like that,” he adds, rewarding Cooke with a kiss when he moans in response. Cooke weakly swats at Rossi but he’s already shuffled down to settle between Cooke’s legs. He lets Rossi pull off his underwear, arching his back off the bed to help before settling back down to watch the brunette get rid of his own, licking his lips as Rossi’s cock springs free.

“Please” Cooke breathes as Rossi gets to work slicking his fingers with a vaseline tin he hadn’t seen Rossi tuck to one side. He toys with Cooke’s hole, spreading the stuff around that tight ring of muscle and smiles sweetly before he finally pushes in. Cooke can’t complete the sentence—in part because of how vulnerable he now feels, laid bare and fully exposed. When they’ve done this before it’s been a quick press of hips or a helping hand, always partially clothed with a reason to hide and keep quiet. The moment’s always over way too fast. 

The way Rossi holds his gaze so intently doesn’t help with that feeling but Cooke finds he stops caring when Rossi curls his finger up and finds that sweet spot that makes his toes curl. Rossi smiles again at the noise it pulls out of Cooke. He drags his fingers out slowly to repeat the motion with two fingers and Cooke thinks he could come like this. Cooke scrabbles for something to hold as he squirms under Rossi’s touch.

“That’s it love, show me how much you like that, show me how desperately you want to come,” Rossi says, voice silken and heavy with lust as Cooke rocks his hips up to the touch. Any lingering apprehension of how vocal he is fades as Rossi talks.

“Rossi - I’m- I’m-” he can’t even finish the sentence. He’s so close. One more touch and he’ll come. Rossi pulls his fingers out and waits for him to come down and Cooke whimpers as he mourns the loss of the contact as well as the failed orgasm. 

“Bastard,” Cooke whines, swatting at Rossi weakly.

“Don’t be a brat—remember our deal?” Rossi chides softly. Cooke groans, throwing his head back into the pillow. Rossi’s going to be the death of him. 

“I’m trying,” Cooke pleads. He’s still rolling his hips a little, trying to find some sort of sensation. 

“I know love, I know you’re used to a faster pace and you’re doing so well but being rude won’t get you what you want. I know you’re wet for me but you’ll just have to wait a little longer,” Something about how Rossi says that makes him want to be stubborn and see how far he can push this, what Rossi would really do if he acted out. Cooke files that idea away for later.

“Turn over for me love,” Cooke hesitates then rolls over. “Ass up,” Rossi gives him a playful swat across his ass, it’s not a hard slap but it still draws a little ah out of Cooke and he rocks backwards into it before he can stop himself. He feels his cheeks burn as he gets onto his knees and spreads his legs, letting his stomach press into the mattress. At that moment, he’s glad Rossi can’t see his face. 

Rossi presses kisses to the inseam of his thighs and shuffles forward to line up, slicking his cock as he goes. Slowly Rossi pushes in, making Cooke feel every inch of him. Cooke’s eyelids flutter shut as he draws breath that comes out more like needy moans. It always feels good having Rossi inside him - he’s girthy and leaves Cooke feeling full and used. Despite himself, Cooke is savouring the feel of him, how it feels to have Rossi’s cock drag against his walls.

“That’s it, taking me so well. You feel so fucking good—it’s like your tight, little hole was made for me to fuck,” Rossi says in response to Cooke’s breathy little ah’s as he pushes in. Cooke’s sure he could come from the filth that comes out of Rossi’s mouth when they fuck and he hates Rossi for it—for all his lip the public world sees behind closed doors all he can do is moan and utter tiny pleas for more. He can’t think of smatass comments nor filthy praises to make, not with Rossi’s cock or fingers inside him. Being touched by Rossi in the most intimate ways is like an off switch.

They both groan when Rossi bottoms out—for Rossi it’s more a deep sigh, for Cooke it’s a high pitched whine. 

“That’s my boy,” Rossi murmurs, free hand stroking Cooke’s back. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re like this—do you know how hard it was not to jump you in the truck and on the train? How tempted I was to fuck you senseless and show the others what a good little whore you are? Show them exactly who your perfect, tight little hole belongs to and how prettily you beg to be filled with come?” Cooke’s hips twitch backwards at the words. The way Rossi talks as he begins to move with deep, languid strokes has butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Rossi says it so tenderly, even when his voice is thick with lust.

Rossi leans in and whispers his next words against the shell of Cooke’s ear, causing a shiver to run up his spine, “not to mention how gorgeous you look when you’re all filled up with my come,” Rossi emphasizes that by dragging his nails down Cooke’s back. His mouth drops open and a little ah comes out.

Lost in the moment, Cooke whines, tries to meet Rossi’s thrusts but Rossi has his back held down firmly. Cooke fights the contact a little wanting to speed things up.

“Slow down, focus on feeling me darling,” Rossi soothes. his spare hand strokes up his spine and sliding his hand over Cooke’s shoulder and down his arm. Rossi’s hand finds Cooke’s fist in the sheets, Cooke’s fingers relax enough to allow their fingers to interlock. Cooke’s sure the slow pace is an excuse to tease. He huffs in response then remembers the chance for him fucking Rossi is at steak and doesn’t add on the snark that’s sitting on the tip of his tounge. Rossi holds him like that for a moment but even Rossi doesn’t have the strength to hold out longer before he starts to move. Even then, it’s slow. And he still has Cooke pinned, the bastard. 

So he does what Rossi asks. He thinks about how thick Rossi feels inside him, how it feels his cock to drag almost all the way out before pushing all the way back in again and how it feels for the blunt head of Rossi’s cock to drag over his prostate. How it feels when Rossi aims just so.

“Want you,” Cooke mumbles, breath punctuated by breathy moans. Rossi’s thumb runs over Cooke’s knuckles.

“Y’ have me balls deep in you, daft bastard,” Rossi says fondly. Cooke tries to shoot him a glare—Rossi knows Cooke means he wants faster and rougher and Cooke groans in frustration that he’s being deliberately obtuse.

“You know what I mean,” Cooke mutters as Rossi keeps the slow pace but fucks him with a sharper stroke on the way in that draws breathy moans from Cooke’s mouth, noises he didn’t even know he could make. Cooke can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by that—not with the noises Rossi makes to counter his.

“Faster, please, fuck-” Cooke’s begging breaks off into unintelligible mumbling as Rossi aims just right and he’s not sure if he’s vocalising his thoughts of fuck, yes, there, don’t stop but he’s past caring. Rossi asked him to be vocal didn’t he? 

“Y’ beg so nicely, shoulda made you use words sooner,” Rossi tuts, more so at himself. Rossi stops without warning. 

“M’ close,” Cooke whines. Heat’s starting to pool low in his belly, steadily building and now Rossi stops? Bastard.

“Ask nicely,” Rossi chides.

“Hate you,” Cooke grumbles as he tries to roll his hips back again. Rossi lets him this time but stays still.

“That’s not nice,” Rossi retorts. “If you don’t ask nicely I’ll let you come down again and we’ll keep going like this until you beg me to fill your hole with come,” Rossi says. He’s getting breathless too but somehow keeps his tone even.

“Fucking let me come,” Cooke bites out. Rossi doesn’t move. Cooke can almost feel Rossi’s eyes burning into the back of his head but he doesn’t dare try to glance over his shoulder. He’s taught with the need to come and so ready for the release but there’s not enough friction to push him over the edge—he can’t come just from Rossi resting his cock in him. 

“Try again,” Rossi hums, it’s condescending and gets under Cooke’s skin, making him bristle. He doesn’t say anything. Rossi pulls back slowly, threatening to pull out entirely. Cooke stays silent out of principle and grips the sheet under him a little tighter. Rossi pulls out with a wet sound and Cooke curses himself for being so stubborn.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cooke mutters into the pillow, the curses aimed at many things but nothing in particular.

“Can’t hear you, darling.” Rossi’s voice has softened again. 

“Fuck!” Cooke shouts, so close to sobbing. He keeps himself together—just.

“You begged so prettily earlier—I’m sure you could do it one more time,” Damn Rossi and his filthy mouth. He just wants Rossi’s cock deep inside him and feels any lingering resolve break there and then, he’s not sure he could survive another failed orgasm. 

“Please sir,” Cooke knows he sounds wrecked as he says it but he’s past caring, past caring that he just called Rossi Sir in bed when he hadn’t meant to. It’s worth it to hear Rossi moan at the use of the honorific and he hopes that tiny plea is enough. Rossi takes a tiniest crumb of pity and pushes back in, slower than when he’d first breached Cooke’s hole. 

“Was that so hard?” Rossi’s tone is condescending this time and would annoy Cooke under any other circumstance but he’s so desperate for Rossi’s cock all he can do is utter a quiet no sir as Rossi pushes back in.

“I wish you could see how readily your greedy little hole swallows my cock,” Rossi cooes. Cooke can only nod in agreement, he wishes he could see it too. 

“Tell me when you get close or you won’t come at all,” Rossi orders. Cooke feels the heat kicking off Rossi’s body as he leans forward so his mouth’s resting on the shell of his ear; “And don’t you fucking dare come before I do. If you hadn't been such a bat earlier I’d have let you come whenever you were ready,” Rossi’s voice is a dangerous whisper that goes straight to Cooke’s cock. 

Cooke can only whine in response as Rossi begins to fuck him properly. He’s been held near the edge enough times it doesn’t take him long before he feels that familiar heat pooling in his stomach again and he makes wanton noises with every thrust Rossi makes. He’s not holding back anymore, he’s pounding hard and fast, a perfect counterpoint to the slower proceedings earlier but it’s almost too perfect and he’s at the edge again, thrashing against Rossi trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Close,” Cooke bites out.

“Good boy,” Rossi kisses his neck—anywhere he can reach. Rossi stops again. “Tell me what you want,”

“I want you to come in me, use me and fuck me hard so I can come for you, please sir, please, let me come. Please, I’ll be good, sir,” Cooke begs, repeating pleas as he shoves his face in the pillow to hide how his cheeks turn a blotchy pink. Rossi rewards him by fucking into him, hard and fast. Just the way Cooke had wanted. 

Cooke only just manages to hold out long enough for Rossi to come first—had Rossi come a beat later he would have broken that deal. Cooke’s concentrating so hard on not coming he hardly registers the feeling Rossi coming in him.

“Come for me, love, show me how much you love my cock,” Rossi says between breaths as he fucks himself through his orgasm. Cooke grips Rossi’s hand tighter—all he can do is hang on and take it. He’s close. Cooke throws himself into meeting Rossi’s strokes half way. Rossi fucks Cooke a little harder, that's all Cooke needs to come hard and fast gasping out Rossi’s name. Thick ropey spurts of come paint Cooke’s stomach and his hips twitch to their own accord as his hole stutters around Rossi’s cock. 

Rossi finally lets Cooke up, lets him turn over and lets Cooke see just how wrecked he is. It’s incredible really, how fucking good Rossi looks even when he’s fucked out. He’s sweaty and flushed red from exertion, chest rising and falling as his breathing slowly evens out. 

Rossi gets up to find a cloth and cleans them both the best he can before settling on Cooke’s stomach. Cooke reaches up, traces Rossi’s jaw and pulls him down for a kiss. Rossi goes willingly and deepens the kiss. The kiss is slower this time, something softer. 

“You did good for me darling,” Rossi murmurs as he pulls away to breathe. Cooke shivers though he’s not sure if it’s from the praise or how dangerously close to tender it feels to have Rossi cup his face with both of his hands. Rossi dips down to kiss him again. Cooke rests one hand on the small of Rossi’s back, the other hand rests on the back of Rossi’s head, toying with his short hair. Cooke’s dangerously close to muttering those three words but can’t quite bring himself to do it even though it feels like Rossi’s pouring his soul into Cooke’s, trying to make him feel loved. Cooke fights the urge to confess, pushes it down with everything he has left.

“Was that too much?” Rossi asks once Cooke comes back to himself.

“No,” Cooke smiles. “Sometimes I think I could come listening to you talking,” he glances down as he admits that. Rossi laughs and presses a kiss to his forehead, something about how softly he does it and looks at Cooke when he pulls back makes Cooke feel loved, gives him the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

“That is a compliment,” Rossi ruffles Cooke’s hair and leans down to kiss him again, a kiss that stays soft even when Rossi’s tongue slips in. Cooke can never get enough of the taste of him and kisses back as long as Rossi lets him, as long as it feels appropriate. 

When they break away to breathe, Rossi settles with his head in the crook of Cooke’s neck and Cooke basks in Rossi’s warmth. Cooke’s not sure how long they lay together but it’s pleasant being able to enjoy Rossi’s company, just the two of them. He strokes Rossi’s back slowly, feels his breathing even out as Rossi starts to doze. 

“I love you,” Cooke finally says, his voice barely a whisper but it sounds loud even to his ears. He hopes Rossi’s actually asleep as he says it but he swears he feels Rossi smile into his neck.

“I love you too, dumbass,” comes the quiet reply. There’s affection in the sleepy tone that makes Cooke’s stomach do a summersault though his heart is still racing from Rossi responding.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had the chapter written for a while, it just didn't want to be edited and some parts required a few re-writes.  
> It's here now though (also means I can get the third part up pretty quick)! The fourth part is in the process of being written.
> 
> In this chapter: Domestic Cooke/Rossi, Handjob, Cooke topping for the first time, fingering, Rossi catching onto Cooke's pain kink, sex

Rossi jolts awake from a dream he can’t remember, he jolts so violently he makes Cooke jump too. He has nightmares like this sometimes, most of them do. He’d been spooning Cooke, curled up behind him but Cooke turns to face him and runs a hand down his back. Rossi’s grateful Cooke doesn’t comment on the nightmare and lets him come back to his senses in his own time, Cooke’s hand stroking his back is a grounding weight. Rossi focuses on the warmth of Cooke’s palm and he works to sync his breathing with Cooke’s.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Rossi asks softly when his breathing’s evened out and he feels calmer. He presses kisses into Cooke’s neck. He needs to know if the feeling really is mutual. He feels Cooke freeze against him, feels how his breathing picks up a little. 

“It’s okay,” Rossi starts, wondering how to go forward or if he should try and backtrack. “I love ya too, y’ daft bastard,” Rossi finally says, figuring he’s better off being honest. his voice is muffled by Cooke’s hair.

“Really?” Cooke sits up to turn and look at him. There’s something vulnerable in Cooke’s expression—like he can’t believe his luck. Rossi supposes that makes two of them—he feels exposed for having admitted the confession and he’s starting to understand why Cooke waited until he thought Rossi was asleep. Rossi nods carefully. Cooke breathes out a laugh and something Rossi reads as relief settles across his face and he kisses Rossi deeply. His reaction tells Rossi all he needs to know and he smiles against Cooke’s lips as they kiss. Rossi cradles the back of Cooke’s head and kneads his fingers against Cooke’s scalpe. 

They lay like that for a while and Cooke goes back to sleep. It’s just gone ten by the time Rossi gets up properly, untangling himself from Cooke’s limbs. He has to admit it’s nice putting on clean, comfy clothes that aren't itchy uniform that irritate his skin.

“Rise and shine princess,” Rossi says and swats him with a pillow. Cooke grumbles something unintelligible in response and pulls the duvet up over his head. Rossi heads downstairs to find some food, sighs when there isn’t any and heads to the corner shop to stock up. He tolerates the storekeeper quizzing him about the front lines but it niggles at him and he feels himself slowly getting more irritated at the invasive questions. 

His mood dissolves completely when Cooke appears an hour later wearing the clothes Rossi left out for him looking offended he had to get up at all, blonde hair messed up and sticking out at odd angles. Rossi can’t resist messing it up further. 

“Fuck off!” Cooke protests but the words die on a breathless laugh when Rossi pulls him in for a kiss. Just this once he grants himself permission to watch the lines in Cooke’s face even out as he melts into Rossi’s touch before he loses himself to the feel of Cooke.

“My shirt looks good on you,” Rossi says. It’s a size too big really but the way Cooke wears it has an odd sort of charm. Cooke’s response is a messy kiss.

“I should show you the village,” Rossi says after a while. 

“I’d like that,” Cooke nods, a small smile playing over his lips. Rossi has to fight the urge to kiss him again. 

After they’ve eaten, Rossi takes Cooke on a walk. There’s really not much to see in the local area, a few houses scattered down a road that’s cobblestone and a few shops. Rossi keeps walking, wanting to show Cooke the quiet footpath he used to wander down to clear his head before he signed up to the signal corps. Relatively certain they’re alone, that it’s just them and the birds and squirrels, he laces his fingers with Cooke, letting the younger man lean into him as they walk. The younger blonde’s uncharacteristically quiet so Rossi tells him what it was like growing up here and Cooke listens, taking it in. 

On the way back home, Rossi shows Cooke how to get onto the footpath from his cottage, just in case the younger blonde ever needed space to think.

When they’re home, it’s already coming on for six o’clock in the evening. Rossi starts on dinner whilst Cooke sits on the sofa picking at the crossword in the paper Rossi picked up with his shopping habitually. He’s getting more and more irritated by a crossword the longer he works with it that eventually, Rossi stops cooking dinner for five mins and leans over him. 

“What are you stuck on?” Rossi asks. 

“Nine down and nine across. The words don’t add up,” Cooke points to where he means.

“Because you’re using the wrong words,” Rossi says after peering at the clues. Cooke shoots him a glare. “Nine down is _egregious,_ ” Rossi adds.

“The fuck does that even mean?” Cooke huffs. “Oh right,” when he glances at the clue, a hint of colour rises to his cheeks. He pencils the word in using a messy script and looks at Rossi waiting for the next one.

“ _Disavowed_ is the other one,” Rossi says. Cooke considers. Looks at where he penciled in _withdrew_ with a question mark in the spare box. 

“Fucking smart-ass,” Cooke mumbles. Rossi smiles into Cooke’s hair. He walks round and sits on the sofa so he can pull Cooke into his lap. He teases the blonde drawing gentle circles through the fabric of the trousers that are too long for him until he’s withering and moaning out Rossi’s name with desperate pleas, crossword forgotten. Rossi undoes the front of Cooke’s borrowed shirt, lets his hands roam over his chest before dipping under his waistband, touching firmer this time. The patterns are random, sometimes long stroking gestures and other times almost floral loops teasing around the head of Cooke’s cock. Cooke comes gasping Rossi’s name on a whine.

Rossi ends up burning dinner but he thinks it’s worth it, especially when Cooke eats a crispy than it should have been potato with a coy glance in Rossi’s direction. 

That night, Rossi lets Cooke lay on top of him as they slowly make out. With the privacy to take his time and think about his actions, Rossi’s noticed how Cooke’s picked up a sort of finess with kissing he didn’t have before when they were stealing touches in the relative quiet of the trenches and it’s pleasant, the feeling of Cooke’s lips pressing against his—how he slowly licks into Rossi’s mouth, takes his time with tasting him.

Cooke starts to roll his hips forward as he deepens the kiss and Rossi’s content to let him, his own hips twitching up into the movement.

“Gotta do something about that,” Rossi murmurs when they pull away to breathe, when he feels Cooke getting hard, he rolls his hips up into Cooke, lets Cooke feel he wants to move things along too.

“Yeah? Guess it’s my turn now,” Cooke says. His breath tickles Rossi’s lips. Rossi makes a non-committal noise in agreement.

“So what do you want to do?” Cooke asks, peering down at Rossi, considering. 

“Dunno,” Rossi answers. He’s not sure if he wants Cooke to live out one of his fantasies of fucking into him or riding him—he’d be happy with either. He passes Cooke the Vaseline jar.

“You could do me for starters,” Rossi says. The comment slips out before he thinks it through and he feels his face heats as his brain catches up but it’s worth saying for the laugh it pulls out of Cooke. He’s still smiling when he bends down to kiss Rossi again. It’s still slow and Cooke continues to take his time exploring Rossi’s mouth, their tongues curling together before Cooke pulls back with uncertainty written on his face. 

“I don’t-” Cooke breaks off, the admission quiet and he seems unable to finish the sentence and suddenly shy. _Oh_. Rossi runs his hands over Cooke’s ass, making him shiver and come to rest on the small of his back. 

“You’ve never penetrated someone before?” Cooke buries his face in Rossi’s shoulder and Rossi feels him shake his head. 

“You’re my first for a lot of things,” Cooke mumbles, barely audible. Rossi finds himself wishing that he’d known that little detail, that they’d come together in more ideal circumstances. He regrets being so rough the first time they’d fooled around, wishes they’d waited until they were somewhere private—even some shitty French inn would have been better than grinding against Cooke in the murk of the dug-out, still clothed. 

“It’s not hard, love—instinct will show you what to do,” Rossi murmurs. Rossi tilts Cooke’s head up but still shy, Cooke resists. Rossi lightly tugs on Cooke’s hair and Cooke goes more willingly, responding easily to the pleasure-pain he likes so much. His cheeks blotchy pink and he’s barely able to meet Rossi’s eyes. Rossi pulls Cooke in for a kiss. Cooke responds enthusiastically, forgets to think about what he’s doing so their teeth knock together like it’s his first time kissing all over again until he tilts his head to get a better angle and it becomes a softer press of lips and Rossi savors the feeling of it. 

Whilst they kiss, Rossi formulates a plan. Talk Cooke through the whole thing with the crass use of words that seem to get the blonde so worked up. It shouldn’t be that hard—Rossi can do the same thing when he takes Cooke after all. He waits for Cooke to relax before rolling his hips up again. Cooke moans into the kiss and moves with him, eventually he starts to lead the movement and Rossi breaks away to breathe so he can put his plan into motion.

“I’d like you to coat your fingers in Vaseline, tease me until I’m nice n’ wet and relaxed enough my dirty little hole greedily swallows a finger,” Rossi says. Cooke swallows thickly but does what he’s told, Rossi rewarding him by stroking his head and pulling him down to kiss. Cooke’s fingers press against his hole. Rossi can’t help gasping and arching into the touch when Cooke starts toying with his entrance. 

“Firmer love, I won’t break,” Rossi says. Cooke nods, watching Rossi’s face. Cooke rubs his finger over the tight ring of muscle making Rossi’s eyelids flutter shut. 

“ _Please_ ,” Rossi moans softly. When Cooke finally pushes a finger in he’s firm yet so gentle, a perfect counterpoint to all his coarse edges. Cooke distracts him from thinking up more filth to speak with a messy kiss, more in line with what Rossi expects from him as Cooke pushes a second finger in. Rossi moans into Cooke’s mouth and Rossi wonders how well he’s going to be able to keep up with his plan when Cooke touches him _like that_ with one finger. Rossi lets himself relax to the touch, lets Cooke get a feel for it.

“More, please—stretch me out, fill me up and make me feel every inch of you,” Rossi whines. When he looks up, Cooke flashes an expression his way, something that makes Rossi’s cock twitch. “ _Please_ , ” he adds, remembering how he chides Cooke for not begging nicely and how Cooke would be within his right to use that against him but Cooke gives in easily and gives Rossi the two fingers he asks for.

“I want you to finger me how I finger you, I want you to make me squirm,” Rossi says, words punctuated by breathy moans. He’s starting to lose his train of thought, he’s starting to lose the ability to form sentences as pleasure takes over. Instead, he draws his fingers up Cooke’s back and spreads them as he does so, closing them together as he runs his fingers down Cooke’s back. Cooke catches on to the unspoken commands fast but he’s soon doing his own thing, listening for what draws the most noise, experimentally repeating the actions or trying variants of it. Cooke curls his fingers up without Rossi suggesting it and doesn’t take long for Cooke’s fingers to find that spot that makes Rossi see stars. When he does, Rossi arches into the touch, whining loudly. _Fuck_ that felt good. 

“ _Charles_ —Yes, there,” Rossi hears himself babbling, voice breathy but it feels so damn good he can’t help it. Cooke fingers him open, scissoring his fingers and occasionally sliding over his prostate. Rossi grips Cooke’s ass, squeezing hard leaving little crescent marks from where his unevenly cut fingernails dig in. At the same time, Cooke’s fingers curl upwards to press on his prostate. Rossi gives a high pitched whine and loosens his grip, breathing hard. They both stare at each other, briefly stunned. Rossi recovers first.

“Sorry darling,” Rossi murmurs quietly, smoothing a hand over the swell of Cooke’s ass in apology.

“It’s okay—I liked it,” Cooke mumbles, face turning crimson. Rossi looks up and Cooke looks away, worries at his bottom lip a little the way he does when he’s not sure how to proceed next. Rossi should of known from the hair pulling and Cooke’s reaction to the slap that he may have a thing for pain but that’s something to explore later. Tomorrow maybe. Right now Rossi wants to be fucked into next week. Cooke quickly picks up his rhythm again.

“Darling stop—I need you in me right now or I will come from this,” Rossi pleads. He’s panting and desperately rocking up into Cooke’s touch like it’s a lifeline. He can’t think straight—blinded by the need to come and the hot press of Cooke’s fingers moving in and out of him.

“Like that’s a bad thing,” Cooke smirks. He has his head cocked to one side like he’s considering finishing Rossi there and then or at least making him beg. Fuck, Rossi almost wants him to. “Tell me what you want,” Cooke says, his voice is low and dangerous and his newfound confidence goes straight to Rossi’s cock.

“I want you to put your cock in me, fill me up and make me feel every inch of you. Fuck me hard until I’m repeating your name and begging to come,” Rossi’s not sure how he manages to get the sentence out and it’s punctuated by breathy little moans as he tells Cooke what he wants. Cooke takes his fingers out and silences Rossi with a kiss, slicking his cock and lining up. The first press of the blunt head of Cooke’s cock has Rossi’s eyes roll back and a sharp exhale of breath escapes his lips. He breathes like that for a bit but forces himself to open his eyes so he can watch how Cooke’s face distorts in pleasure as he pushes in, so he can see the exact moment a little _ah_ that escapes Cooke’s lips and Rossi captures it with a kiss. 

Having Cooke’s full length in him feels different to 3 fingers but it feels so good he’s lost for words. The first stroke Cooke makes punches the wind out of him with a sharp moan, when Cooke starts moving properly all Rossi can do is hang onto him, clawing at his back and rolling his hips up to meet the rhythm Cooke sets. Cooke tries to go slow, how Rossi had teased him yesterday but he doesn’t share Rossi’s patience and it’s not long before Cooke gives in to a faster rhythm but Rossi doesn’t mind. The wet sounds of Cooke’s cock sliding out and pushing back in, the slap of skin on skin fill the room and the messy kisses Cooke initiates as he drinks the noise Rossi makes for him adds to the experience. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Cooke growls. All Rossi can do is nod in agreement because Cooke’s strokes keep fucking him on that spot that has him moan and begging for more. 

“Make me feel it,” Rossi pleads and Cooke speeds up his pace, fucking a little rougher and tugging Rossi’s head back by his hair so he can mouth at Rossi’s jaw, smiling against his flushed skin as Rossi moans his name. 

“I’m so close,” Rossi nearly sobs, his voice sounding wrecked to his own ears. “You’re prefect, keep fucking me like that darling,” Cooke kisses him again, his motions messy with the need to come. Cooke slides a hand down to Rossi’s cock which is leaking thick beads of precome and Cooke picks some of it up in his fingers, smearing it over the swollen head as he rolls his hand down the shaft. Rossi’s reduced to babbling a litany of pleas as the dual sensations of Cooke’s rough hand on his cock and the full feeling of his ass overwhelm him. 

He comes hard, clenching down on Cooke’s cock and locking his legs over Cooke’s back as he does so as thick, ropey spurts of his come paint both of them. Cooke whines his name as Rossi’s clenching hole pulls the orgasm out of him. Cooke pulls out, settles down on him gently and catches his breath. They lay like that for a while whilst they come down from their orgasm.

Cooke reaches for the cloth and cleans both of them up and Rossi once again finds it endearing how gentle and attentive Cooke is when he wants to be.

“How was I?” Cooke asks after the silence lingers a beat too long. 

“Spectacular,” he means it. Cooke smiles and kisses him, a chaste press of lips.

Rossi pulls Cooke close, relishing in the feel of the younger man against him. Cooke falls asleep soon after with Rossi carding fingers through his hair. As rain begins to beat down against the window and thunder rumbles in the distance, Rossi stays awake a little longer and thinks about how things may have played out if there had been no war. He thinks ahead too, how they could live together after the war ends, not daring to entertain the possibility one of them may be killed between now and then. 

Instead, he resolves to make the most of the time they have now.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's the kinky one. 
> 
> In this chapter: More domestic Cooke/Rossi, handjob/mutual masturbation, hair pulling, discussions of kinks and safewords, dom/sub undertones, temperature/wax play, aftercare

Cooke lounges around in bed until he feels stiff and wants to move and stretch out. He’s never going to willingly be an early riser but he gets up earlier than he did yesterday. He’s enjoying being able to lounge around, he’s enjoying not being bound to the strict monotony of military life accented by moments of sheer terror. He’s also enjoying waking up to four brick walls among many other things he’d prefer to not think about right now, instead preferring to focus on enjoying Rossi’s company in private. 

Cooke offers to make lunch this time, despite having a limited knowledge of recipes. He looks at the food Rossi has in and sticks with making sandwiches, they’re easy and a safe option. They don’t come out too bad if he says so himself. He lets the corner of his lips turn upwards when Rossi agrees.

Rossi busies himself with cleaning in the afternoon, mumbling something about the trenches being tidier than his house. He doesn’t let Cooke help so Cooke sits on the sofa with today’s crossword—after Rossi pointed out a few more words he couldn’t figure out he’s starting to get in the mindset to tackle them and the clues come easier. He gets a few more words down but Cooke feels like he’s getting in the way so he puts the crossword on the table and announces he’s going out for a walk. Rossi stops his cleaning to give Cooke the spare set of keys, sending him off with a kiss. 

It’s been raining heavily and the footpath Rossi had shown him is waterlogged, deep puddles covering most of the path and the bits that aren’t covered in surface water are slippery and treacherous. Cooke gives up a few paces in and backtracks, deciding to follow the pavement running alongside the road running through the village instead. It’s still got the odd puddles but it’s not as bad as the footpath. He follows it in the opposite direction Rossi had taken him down and he’s out for almost half an hour before it starts to rain again. He feels the threat of it first, thinking it was damp dripping from leaves in the trees as they moved with the wind but it rains properly not long later and Cooke ends up sprinting back to the cottage. Even with a coat, he’s soaked by the time he gets the keys in the lock, the rain cold and biting.

Cooke’s barely got his coat and boots off, barely has time to notice how tidy the cottage is now before Rossi has him against the wall, tongue licking into his mouth. Cooke’s body reacts almost immediately and with how close Rossi is pressed against him he knows Rossi must feel it too. He can’t help it though, when Rossi kisses him like that, all needy and desperate it usually leads onto sex.

“You’re soaked, doll,” Rossi says when he pulls away to breathe. Cooke notices how Rossi’s studying him in that way he does when he’s worrying something’s up. 

“Yeah it rained,” Cooke deadpans. To prove his point, the rain seems to beat down even harder. There’s no thunder this time but the wind picks up and trees close to the cottage bang against the windows.

Rossi’s response is to lead Cooke upstairs. Rossi draws him a warm bath, an actual damned bath—it feels like ages since he last saw one and helps Cooke strip out of his damp layers. Rossi grins when he sees Cooke’s half hard when he steps out of Rossi’s underwear but before Cooke has a chance to get in the bath and take matters into his own hands, Rossi turns him so they’re facing. Cooke thinks it’s unfair how he’s naked and Rossi’s fully clothed and Rossi de-rails that train of thought with another needy kiss whilst he unzips his fly and frees his cock. He slicks both of them with the Vaseline he started keeping in his pocket and Cooke sighs into the touch, his head falling into Rossi’s shoulder. 

Cooke undoes the collar of Rossi’s shirt so he can leave open mouthed kisses down the column of Rossi’s neck. He bites into the skin at it’s base of Rossi’s and the brunette groans into the bite, squeezes a little harder around their cocks. Cooke moans into the touch and continues to suck marks into Rossi’s skin, he’s careful to make sure they’re under the collar of his uniform. Cooke rocks against Rossi as he works their cocks over, with Rossi’s tight grip, clever fingers and the way he rolls his hand over the head of both of their cocks on the upstroke it doesn’t take long before Cooke gets close.

They’re both rocking into Rossi’s fist, into each other. Into the messy and rough rhythm Rossi established. Their breathy moans echo around the small bathroom, almost lost over the sound of the driving rain and howling wind. Cooke comes first with a gasp, grips Rossi’s shoulders as his knees tremble and threatens to give out whilst Rossi strokes him through the orgasm. Rossi comes not long after, their come coating his hand and their chests.

“You should join me,” Cooke says into Rossi’s neck. He leans back so he can inspect the marks he left there and smiles at his work. Rossi tilts his head up so they can kiss. 

“Maybe next time,” Rossi says with a wink as he cleans himself up and leaves to get Cooke dry clothes. Cooke steps into the tub, savoring the warmth of the water as it starts beating back the cold that had seeped into his bones. He washes then stays soaking in the tub until the water starts to get cold. Cooke reluctantly steps out, dries off and steps into the clothes Rossi brought back for him.

He wanders downstairs to find Rossi rooting through the pantry for potatoes and carrots. Cooke offers to have a go at cooking dinner but Rossi kisses him sweetly and politely declines and it’s then Cooke discovers that Rossi actually likes cooking—that it gives him a sense of freedom and independence. 

“I want to learn some time, y’know if you ever go out of town,” Cooke says. He’s standing behind Rossi, arms wrapped around the taller man’s waist as he works on making a beef stew. After that, Rossi offers to show him some recipes he’s picked up and Cooke pays attention to how Rossi prepares and cooks the food.

They eat in comfortable silence, cuddle on the sofa after Cooke insists on cleaning the dishes before moving up to the bedroom. 

Rossi sits on the bed, hand resting possessively on Cooke’s thigh. His gaze is considering, like he’s trying to find the right words to say. Cooke shifts, half wanting to shuffle closer and feel the reassurance of Rossi’s warmth. In the end, Rossi comes to him, pulls Cooke into his chest. Cooke melts into the touch, smiling when Rossi puts his arms around his front.

“Is there anything you wanna do before we go back from leave?” Cooke considers admitting the pain kink outright. That Rossi had effortlessly discovered digging his fingers into the globes of his ass, or probably (more than likely) before that with the hair pulling and his reaction to being slapped. Cooke can’t make himself voice it though, something about _I think I get off to pain hurt me please_ doesn’t sit well on his lips. He doesn’t know how to ask for it or what he wants. Rossi raises an eyebrow like he’s waiting for Cooke to actually answer.

“What do you mean?” Cooke decides to play dumb.

“You like it when I pull your hair, don’t think I missed how you reacted to that slap and you _admitted_ you liked it when I dug my fingers in. I mean if you wanted we could explore that further,” Rossi says. 

“Don’t have a pain kink,” Cooke says. Yep, that’s the hill he’s going to die on—playing dumb whilst Rossi states the obvious. There’s a mischievous glint in Rossi’s eyes that Cooke doesn’t like but he whines and jerks his hips forward as Rossi pulls back on his hair, hard. It’s a sharp enough tug it’s almost too much, makes Cooke’s eyes start to water but it goes straight to his cock and Cooke has to fight the urge to grind against Rossi.

“See?” Rossi sounds pleased and for a brief moment Cooke wants to punch him. Instead, he squirms in place but still refuses to admit the longer Rossi holds that tight grip in his hair the more turned on he gets. His cock betrays him and starts to harden and Rossi must feel it because he gives Cooke a knowing look.

“ _Fine_ I like a bit of pain and rough handling—so what?” Cooke hisses. It comes out more breathy than he intended. _Fuck_. 

“So you don’t want to try doing something about that before we leave here? Whilst we have the privacy to do so?” Rossi asks, his voice a soft whisper. 

“Doesn’t have to be a sex thing,” Rossi adds. “Unless you want that to be part of it,” 

“What do you mean it doesn’t have to be a sex thing,” Cooke snaps back. There’s no real bite to it but his train of thought stops completely when Rossi mouths wet kisses down Cooke’s jaw, other hand still firmly gripping his hair in a grip that forces Cooke to tilt his head back and expose his throat. 

“I mean we could explore that pain kink of yours,” His breath ghosts over skin damp from Rossi’s kisses and Cooke shivers. In part down to Rossi bringing it out into the open so casually. His cock twitches at the possibility. “If you wanted,” Rossi adds. He lets go of Cooke’s hair in favor of running his hand down Cooke’s back to rest on a thigh. Cooke finds himself mourning the loss of Rossi’s tight grip in his hair.

“How?” Cooke starts, half turning round to fix Rossi with an incredulous look. The brunette simply glances to the candles flickering on the bedside. Cooke follows his glance and gives a short, anxious laugh.

“You’re not setting me on fire,” Cooke says accusingly. 

“Wax, Charles, _Wax_ ,” Rossi sighs. Cooke considers, he’s curious enough to see where Rossi’s going with the idea but can’t quite see how his plan would work. Rossi works one of the candles out of his holder—it’s the longest one that’s tall and fairly thick. Cooke swallows when Rossi works it free. 

“First we both need to see how it feels,” Rossi says. Cooke swallows, feeling a twinge of nerves. Rossi seems to catch that—of course he bloody did and presses a chaste kiss to Cooke’s lips. 

Rossi inspects the candle and experimentally, Rossi pours some of the wax over his own wrist—keeps the candle at just under a foot away from him as he pours. His eyelids flutter shut and he sighs at the sting of the burn. Rossi experiments with the distance, quickly lowering the candle close to the height he originally held it at when the drops start to splash too far.

“Feels good,” Rossi murmurs softly. He lets Cooke drag his fingers over the drying wax, smiles as a blush blooms across Cooke’s cheeks. 

Cooke gives into temptation and holds his forearm out but he does so with bad grace and a dramatic sigh. Rossi snorts in amusement at the little show and kisses the pout off his lips, more firmly this time and with a lot more tongue. Cooke moans sweetly into it.

Rossi lays his forearm along Cooke’s, their fingers interlocking. Cooke’s breathing picks up as Rossi starts to tilt the candle in both apprehension and arousal as Rossi lets the wax drip down, rotating the candle slowly as he does. He gasps when the first few drips hit his pale skin, not expecting the sting to feel as good as it does. 

The sharp sting of the burn cuts through the fog that’s been clouding his mind, fog that Cooke hadn’t even noticed was there. Rossi dragging his finger through the wax as it cools adds a layer of intimacy Cooke doesn’t know what to do with or how to begin explaining. It’s too brief and not enough.

“Do you want more of that?” Rossi asks softly. His gaze is intense, it’s hard to meet his eyes but Cooke’s finding himself trapped in place, not wanting to look away. Cooke nods once. 

“Use words, love,” Rossi orders. 

“Yes,” Cooke can’t think of much else to add onto that and hopes it’s enough. 

“We need a way to stop that isn’t actually the word stop,” Rossi says. 

“What do you mean a word that isn’t stop?” It comes out a bit sharper than Cooke had meant it to but Rossi doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes twinkling in the candle light.

“I mean that you sometimes tell me to stop when you really mean s _top being a teasing bastard and actually fuck me_ ,” Rossi’s tone is so matter of fact that Cooke _snorts_ at the bluntness, an unattractive noise that has Rossi laugh at him rather than with him.

“I’m serious,” Rossi says once they’ve stopped laughing. “How about hold fire or arms down or the attack is called off-”

“Hold—I’m not gonna remember any of those when you have your cock in me!” Cooke stammers. 

“Fine—Red,” Rossi offers but with how he cocks an eyebrow it sounds more like an ultimatum. 

“Red means stop,” Cooke agrees. “What now?” he asks. He’d never even fucked until he’d gotten with Rossi—he doesn’t know if there’s a sense of normality to this game they’re playing, any sort of rules or etiquette they should be following. He’s not sure Rossi knows, either.

“You know you can call red at any point and that I will stop straight away and won’t judge you for needing to slow down or stop?” Rossi asks. Cooke rolls his eyes but nods.

“Get on your front for me darling,” Rossi says, pressing a kiss to Cooke’s lips.

Cooke lays on his front and fidgets, partially to get comfortable and partially due to nerves. He’s always had trouble staying completely still and it’s noticing.

“Focus on breathing love,” Rossi says softly. Cooke trusts Rossi—probably more than he should so that’s what he does. Focuses on breathing—long slow breath through his nose, pause for three seconds and exhale slowly through his lips the way Rossi had taught him when the brunette had caught him waking up from a nightmare in their dug-out and he settles soon enough. 

Cooke feels Rossi’s weight settle over the back of his thighs, it’s familiar and reassuring. Cooke’s surprised not to feel the warmth of the wax right away—instead he gets Rossi’s calloused hands rubbing his back and digging into knots of muscle. He can’t complain, having Rossi’s hands on him is always a bonus. 

He groans as Rossi works out a knot and digs his thumb into the tension that’s been sitting in where his skin dips from his shoulder blade to his spine for the past few months and repeats the action on the other side. Cooke relaxes into the touch by increments. 

When Rossi has his fingers massaging at Cooke’s neck, Cooke feels the first drops of wax. He gasps at the sensation—a shock of pleasant warmth dripping down his back, He relaxes further as he gets into it, feeling like his mind would float away if it weren’t for Rossi’s hand keeping the slightest bit of pressure on the back of his neck pinning him in place. He relaxes enough he stops thinking altogether, drifting on the quiet black and the warmth of the candle raining drops of molten wax over him. 

The pitter-patter of the droplets covers his back and Rossi drags his fingers over the still drying wax, dragging it about and Cooke moans into the touch. The unexpected and intense wave of intimacy follows the drag of Rossi’s fingers, surrounds him in a safety net of warmth, home and love, it’s warmth reaching his heart and lingers when he shuts his eyes.

Cooke’s breathing has evened out to a near meditative state when Rossi’s finished painting his back in droplets of wax. When Rossi lets go of his neck Cooke feels like he’s floating on sensation—this quiet, secluded dark where the war doesn’t exist, where he can’t hear distant artillery fire or the crack of a rifle being fired down the trenches. There’s no screams of the wounded or dying here either and Cooke thinks he could stay here forever. 

“Hey—Charles are you there?” The hint of concern in Rossi’s soft tone cuts through the veil separating him from reality, his escape and Cooke wonders how long he’s been drifting. Rossi’s solid hands bring Cooke back to his body on this hellish Earth. He’s feeling pleasantly warm and the most relaxed he's been for days, since he’d first arrived at the front lines really. Possibly even before that if he’s being really honest. It takes a while for him to completely come back to himself and he focuses on Rossi’s features—his handsome face peering at him with those dark hooded eyes wise beyond their years. Dopey with love, he reaches out to stroke Rossi’s cheek. Rossi leans into the touch and presses a kiss to his palm.

“How’re you feeling, angel?” Rossi asks. Cooke nods.

“Good,” he mumbles. Rossi smiles back at him, his weight solid and real next to him as he strokes Cooke’s back, fingers ghosting over the patches of dried wax.

“We’ve gotta get you cleaned up, doll,” Rossi murmurs. Cooke groans in agreement as he stretches out his arms. Rossi holds a blunt dinner knife to him and Cooke frowns, not understanding what he’s getting at until Rossi gently begins the process of scraping the wax of Cooke’s back. Cooke jumps at first—the cold blunt metal contrasting the liquid warmth of the wax. Rossi mutters sweet praises and reassurance Cooke doesn’t fully absorb but because it’s Rossi talking in that soft tone he relaxes again and smiles into the pillow he’s resting on. 

“You did so good for me darling,” Rossi says softly when he’s done, peppering Cooke with kisses. Cooke curls into himself from embarrassment at the affection—not used to being showered in love the way Rossi likes to express it given half the chance. He wishes he could see this softer side of Rossi more often but fully understands why Rossi waits until they’re truly alone. Cooke wonders how to begin returning the affection. 

They lay close together for a while. Face to face, Cooke allows himself to get lost in Rossi’s dark eyes, his ruggedly handsome features and counting the faint freckles scattered across his lightly tanned skin and hints of stubble that’s starting to grow in. He wonders how their lives might have panned out if not for the war. He thinks about living here with Rossi, with a pet dancing round their feet—maybe a cat or a dog whilst the two of them work together to make dinner? It’s awfully domestic but Cooke thinks he doesn’t mind that, he’s starting to pine for it even now he’s had a taste.

“How’d it feel?” Rossi asks after a while. His voice is soft and warm. That’s the real question, isn’t it—how does Cooke even begin to explain how it’d felt? Cooke spends a while finding the right words, his brain still sluggish.

“Nice—like wet warmth soaking through your skin until you’re so relaxed you’re floating,” Cooke’s not entirely sure his words make sense but Rossi makes a non-committal noise in agreement. 

“Think you’d do it again given the chance?” Rossi asks softly, his eyes searching. Cooke nods, smiling. 

“Yeah,” he breaths out, eyelids beginning to feel heavy. “Thank you,”

They lapse into comfortable silence after that, Cooke pressing his body close and leaning into the crook of Rossi’s neck, feeling the older man’s breath tickle his ear as he leans back into Cooke’s touch.  
  
A thought passes Cooke’s mind but he brushes it off, a bitter voice in the back of his head rearing up and announcing how it’d fear Rossi would decline. He argues with it vehemently—Rossi’s given so much already would he really say no to a simple request for affection? Cooke can’t shake it and argues with himself over if he should ask but the bitter part of his mind creeps back in and shuts him down every time. 

“What is it, Charles?” Rossi asks after a while. It’s not unkind but that note of concern does seem to be creeping back in again. When Rossi uses his first name like that Cooke feels like he could tell Rossi anything. He wonders if it’s why Rossi does it sometimes, instead of calling him Cooke like everyone else but Rossi isn’t exactly everyone else. Cooke takes a breath, trying not to bring himself out of that pleasant relaxed space he’s found himself in.

“Rossi-” Cooke starts but cuts himself off, eyes glancing away.

“What do you want, love?” Rossi asks. Cooke curls in on himself, almost instinctively. It’s odd the things that make him feel vulnerable and bring out the worst of his insecurities. It’s not the wild sex nor exploring his thing for pain once he’d stopped being stubborn for stubborn’s sake—it’s the affection and asking for it that always gets him.

“Nothing—you’ll only tease,” Cooke says quietly. 

“Try me,” Rossi says. Even though he can’t see the brunette face, it feels like those dark eyes are piercing into his soul. Cooke sighs, fiddling with the pillow case.

“Just—hold me, yeah?” Cooke’s voice is so small he’s sure Rossi will have to make him repeat himself. He nearly sobs when Rossi’s arms slide round him and pulls him in closer, flings his arms around Rossi in return, clinging as if Rossi may vanish if he let go.

“Of course darling,” Rossi says, pressing a kiss to Cooke’s neck. Cooke breaths out.

“Thank you,” Cooke says quietly, his voice trembles slightly around the words. Rossi kisses his forehead in response and runs his hand down Cooke’s back until he falls asleep.


End file.
